


sweet wine (and a good time)

by grimmauld



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 00:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20165056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmauld/pseuds/grimmauld
Summary: H.G. didn’t particularly want to attend this party; he’d rather be at home with his inventions.





	sweet wine (and a good time)

**Author's Note:**

> i somewhat fell in love with poe party x
> 
> come hang on tumblr? @rlversongs

H.G. didn’t particularly want to attend this party; he’d rather be at home with his inventions. His friend, Edgar had invited him to a small gathering at his apartment, with other creative writing majors. H.G. had work to do, though, being a double major in two vastly different fields really took a lot out of you, you know. Exactly three seconds after deciding to decline Edgar’s invitation, his roommate, Oscar, had draped himself on H.G.’s bed and all but forced him to accept. (He looked so adorable begging for him to accompany him.)

-

“Really, H, you  _ must  _ go,” he had whined, “I’ll be terribly bored without you.”

H.G. smiled shyly at him over his goggles. He knew Oscar wouldn’t have pressured him if he truly didn’t want to go.

“Perhaps I can put my work down for one night.”

Oscar had clapped his hands together and smiled wider than the Grand Canyon.

-

It took Oscar a while to get ready.

“What,” he said, “paints me as a bisexual and flirty individual without making me seem desperate?”

“It’s a small gathering of our friends, Oscar, they all know you’re bi and flirty. And anyway, you don’t want to date any of your friends. You’ve said it yourself; ‘The people I affiliate with are intelligent and ever so boring.’”

Oscar winked at him and dramatically pulled his closet open.

“You can never be overdressed, or over-educated, H.G.”

H.G. rolled his eyes at his roommate’s antics and definitely  _ did not _ blush brilliantly when he winked. That would be absurd.

In the end, Oscar settled for a baggy, plain white tee with a mahogany bomber jacket and black skinny jeans. H.G. remained in his black skinny jeans, chunky Doc Martens and slightly grease-stained white button-down (it matched his ink-stained fingers) and dark blue suspenders. Oscar pulled on a pair of beat-up white Converse and with a nod, reached for H.G.’s hand to tug him out the door.

-

When they arrived at Edgar’s party, H.G. immediately began to regret leaving his room, his inventions, his typewriter (“You hipster,” Oscar said when he first saw the contraption. “Oh, I’m just joking, darling, you’re cute.”).

It was a lot louder than he had expected, and small wouldn’t be the word that he would use.

“I thought he said  _ small  _ gathering,” H.G. mumbled in Oscar's ear, standing on tip-toes to reach. Oscar was flushed a light pink, but that was probably from the biting wind they struggled through on the walk over.

Oscar pressed a hand to H.G.’s shoulder and squeezed once. Together, they made their way inside. Their first stop was the kitchen for drinks. H.G. kept himself glued to Oscar’s side. In the kitchen, alongside empty bottles of tequila (and vodka, and gin) they found two abandoned and unopened bottles of wine—apparently, wine was less tempting than the clear spirits—and a huddled group of disgruntled party-goers including one Edgar Allen Poe. He looked rather dashing, in a button-up and loose tie, Lenore had dressed him probably. Speaking of Lenore, she was sitting to his side, a short white lace dress with a sweetheart neckline riding just slightly up her thighs. 

In fact, all of the originally listed invitees—bar one who, apparently, was not in the good graces of the rest of the group—were in that one collection of people in the kitchen.

“Charlotte invited a friend of hers, Eddie, and he apparently invited far, far more people,” Edgar stated, looking put-upon and irate.

“Ah, that would explain the increase in the number of attendees since our last correspondence,” Oscar said shortly.

Edgar pulled his arm free of where his girlfriend was leaning on it to wave a hand in a  _ take a seat  _ sort of gesture. Ernest shuffled aside, cradling a bottle of vodka, Mary and Emily budged over too. Oscar grabbed both bottles of wine and handed one to H.G., plopping himself down in the circle on the cold ground. A little out of his element, H.G. sat down. Oscar uncorked his bottle, H.G. did not.

“Edgar? Lenore?” A sweet voice called from just outside the kitchen.

“In here, babe,” Lenore called back.

A few moments later, a pretty ginger stuck her head around the door. She fully walked into the room, looking like the epitome of kindness. She had black short-shorts on, with a yellow belt, the excess hanging from the buckle. She was also wearing a tight, teal cami top with floral embroidery along the bottom edge.

“I’m not sure if you’ve met my friends, Annabel, but we’re all creative writing majors. Everyone, this is my—and Lenore’s—girlfriend, Annabel,” Edgar said softly, moving over to create room for her to sit between him and Lenore. Lenore pressed a kiss to Annabel’s cheek, leaving a faint red mark.

“I haven’t, but it’s a pleasure to meet you all now.” She smiled at them all.

“Nice to m-meet you, I’m H. G. Wells.”

She smiled at him. It seemed smiling is how she spent the majority of her life. It was a wonder that she ended up so happy together with the stoic and macabre Edgar, and his energetically alcoholic girlfriend. They looked good together, the three of them. 

“I’m Oscar, darling, the pleasure is all mine,” Oscar said with a quirk of his eyebrow. Lenore straightened, tensed really, almost imperceptibly but—with a flicker of her eyes between H.G. and Oscar—settled no more than a second later. H.G. looked at her quizzically but let it slide.

“I’m Ernest,” the man to the left of Oscar said, fingers loose around a new bottle of alcohol.

“Emily,” came the quiet voice of Emily Dickinson.

“I’m George, today,” George said, adjusting his badge and patch covered jean jacket. It had a genderfluid badge laying proudly on the collar. 

The rest of the group introduced themselves and then the quiet talking began, though with the raging music emanating from the other rooms it was rather difficult to hear.

“So,” Oscar said after a few moments of silence, “seven minutes in heaven? Spin the bottle? Never have I ever?”

“Only one of those doesn’t result in kissing,” Fyodor said, accent thicker under the heavy blanket of intoxication.

“Two, if you’re a prude,” Oscar winked. H.G. felt himself bristle slightly.  _ Oscar is supposed to wink at me. _ Except, no. Oscar can wink at whomever because  _ they. are. not. together.  _ Not that he wanted them to be. Unless, did he? No,  _ that _ would be absurd, right?

“Oscar, of those who actually want to date—or kiss—people, less than half of us are single, and one of us is aro-ace,” Edgar said, nodding at Ernest, who tipped his head back and took another swig.

“Never have I ever, then?”

They all acquiesced, with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Mary produced a fresh bottle of tequila from  _ somewhere  _ and poured each of them five shots, skipping over H.G. who instead held up five fingers.

“I’ll start, then,” Edgar sighed. “Never have I ever gotten drunk on red wine.”

Lenore scoffed loudly and threw back a shot. Mary and George did the same. 

“Never have I ever given an empty chair a lap dance because I got too drunk to differentiate between my own two girlfriends and random inanimate objects,” Lenore said pointedly.

Edgar quietly drank his shot, face coloured with embarrassment. He drank alone. Annabel giggled. 

“Never have I ever been a creative writing major,” Annabel said, simply.

Everyone, sans her, Lenore and H.G., drank swiftly. H.G. put one finger down.

“What major are you two, anyway,” George said.

“Anthropology,” Lenore said.

“Forensic Psychology and Criminology,” Annabel said.

Edgar looked proud of the two of them. It was Oscar’s turn.

“Never have I ever been straight.” Of  _ course,  _ he would choose that.

Lenore drank, Edgar drank, Annabel drank. George, Emily and Ernest drank. H.G. put a finger down. Oscar looked surprised. He hadn’t come out yet.  _ Whoops.  _ It  _ was  _ on his to-do list.

The game continued with rather mediocre never-have-I-ever's until it was back to Lenore.

“Never have I ever,” She said, staring directly into H.G.’s eyes, “had a crush on my current roommate.”

He gulped.  _ Shit. _ Oscar’s face filled with a seeping red. He drank so quickly, H.G. wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not. He slowly put his finger down. The two stared at each other. Oscar stood up, wine in hand. H.G. followed suit.

“We have to go now,” Oscar said, voice bordering on strangled. Lenore smirked and picked up the second wine bottle H.G. had left unopened.

-

The walk home was brisk. Oscar had a near death grip on H.G.’s hand, not that H.G. was complaining. It was silent. H.G. was nervous, but not to the extent he expected himself to be. They got to their room and instantly H.G. was pressed against the door.

“You like me?” Oscar said softly.

H.G. nodded, eyes fixated on Oscar’s lips. The ghost of a smile flit across them.

“Good,” he whispered and pulled H.G. in by his suspenders.

When their lips met, it was sort of fireworks. It made sense, his lips were tingling under the pressure of Oscar’s, and his brain was both shut off and going fifty miles-per-hour. His eyes slipped closed as his arms came up to wrap around Oscar’s neck. Oscar’s mouth tasted like sweet wine and a good time.

Lips moving in tandem, Oscar kept his grip firm on H.G.’s braces and used them to drag them to his bed. With a light giggle as H.G. toppled on top of him, he leant back in for another kiss.

-epilogue-

“Please, darling? Edgar promised it was to be a smaller gathering this time. But, really, was the last one so bad? It did get us together,” Oscar whined from his place on H.G.’s bed. H.G., who was fiddling with his typewriter—the ribbon was drying out, paused and looked at Oscar.

“Don’t you think we have something better to do?”

Oscar grinned ferociously and stood, wrapping his arms around H.G. and dragging him to the closet.

“Nah, you need to get out more, darling.”

H.G. rolled his eyes and turned in the other’s grip. His hands came up to rest on Oscar’s chest, Oscar’s arms tightened around his waist. H.G. pressed a sweet kiss to Oscar’s soft lips.

“Fine, we’ll go.”

Oscar kissed him again. (And again, and again, and again. They walked into the party twenty-five minutes late.)

**Author's Note:**

> come hang on tumblr? @rlversongs - comments and kudos are much loved xx


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